2011 WitFit Entries
by m244robp
Summary: A series of drabbles, poems and other writing based on the WitFit prompts presented by the Fictionista Workshop. Original and derivative entries   AU/AH/OOC/Whatever - it's all in clean fun .   Rated MA, just in case.
1. Chapter 1  July 27, 2011

**WitFit for 7/27/2011**

**Original or Derivative (fanfiction):** DERIVATIVE

**Rating/Warning(s)/Note(s):** T. Thought I'd have a little fun tonight. My husband was watching an MMA fight on TV while I was doing this. Un-beta'd.

**Disclaimer:** All copyrights, trademarked items, or recognizable characters, plots, etc. mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without their express written authorization.

**Prompt:** **Word Prompts: **Grass, ass, pass

"Your **ass** is **grass** man!" Emmett threatened as he punched his fist into his hand. He danced around the boxing rink, warming up his limbs in preparation for their daily sparring exercise.

Edward stayed put in his spot, looking bored. He raised his hand and flipped him the bird.

His brother's nonchalance riled him even more. His threats meant nothing to his brother. He was strong, but Edward was fast. Edward would be able to evade his punches and slip out of his grasp. Emmett knew that the only way he could beat him was to catch him off-guard. A practical impossibility, since Edward could read his mind. Unless…

Out of sheer luck, Bella walked into the gym, with Renesmee in tow. The little dumpling of a girl gripped on to her mother's finger as she toddled around the area of the free weights.

"Nessie! No!" Edward bellowed a split second before the girl reached out to pick up the tiniest free weight.

Emmett jumped at Edward and caught him just at the waist. They fell with a loud thud against the padded post of the ring corner.

Edward thumped him on the back in protest. "That wasn't fair!"

"Ha! You blinked, I got you," Emmett teased as he moved off his brother.

Renesmee's wail brought both men up on their feet. In Bella's arms, the little girl screamed with her arms trying to reach for her father. "Dada!" she wailed. Bella tried to calm her by bouncing her slightly in her arms.

"Nessie," she cooed. "Dada's not hurt. He and Uncle Emmett are just playing." The look of frustration clear on Bella's face.

Emmett's heart melted. He couldn't stand to see his little niece so distraught. He jumped down from the elevated platform and walked to her, reaching out to try and calm her. "I'm sorry Nessie. Dada's not hurt. Uncle Emmie was just playing."

Once he got close enough, he was surprised by the slap on the face the little girl gave him. In an instant, he saw a quick vision of the little girl throwing him to the ground, twisting his arm into an armbar, disabling him. Her tiny leg crossed over his throat, threatening to make him **pass** out.

Shaking off the vision, he looked straight into his niece's angry face. "Nessie? Have you and Jakey been watching MMA again?"

"Jake!" Bella and Edward yell in frustration.


	2. Chapter 2  February 23, 2011 WitFit

_This is an old entry, but I thought I put them all together here._

**WitFit for 2/23/2011**

**Original or Derivative (fanfiction****):** Original

**Rating/Warning(s)/Note(s)****:** MA. Un-beta'd.

**Disclaimer:**All copyrights, trademarked items, or recognizable characters, plots, etc. mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without their express written authorization.

**Prompt:**Dominate

"It's time," she said then she walked away from the mirror we shared. She stopped by the exit doors and turned back to me, her arm outstretched. "Come on. It's time for your debut."

In the mirror, a face of someone, or something, I didn't recognize stared back at me. Blood red lipstick stood out against the almost-white face paint. With jet-black drawn eyebrows, and heavy-lined eyelids, I looked like a cartoon. But there was nothing child-like about the black spandex unitard, and matching patent leather heeled boots I wore.

With my stomach in knots, I followed Darlene out into the hallway leading to the stage just above us. I followed her walk up the steps to the waiting area. I heard the last notes of the music for the ending performance, then the roar of the applause from the pleased crowd.

Darlene pulled off the robe that she used to cover herself, and did a few stretches, to limber up for our number. Her bare breasts bounced bent one arm behind her to stretch. Her nipples covered with bejewelled pasties. Her white, ostrich feather thong covered her pubic area, but nothing else.

Her face remained calm, stoic even, as one of the stage hands came behind her to help her put on her wings made of tulle and feathers. To her, this was just another night. Just another performance, one of many in her career as an erotic dancer.

But this was my first professional performance; my debut. Not exactly what I had planned when I graduated from the Central College of Performing Arts. But, I had no choice.

"Relax," Darlene said with an encouraging smile. "You'll do great. You know the routine inside and out."

I nodded, but I could keep from wringing my hands to quell my nerves. Sweat coated my palms, and my fingers grew cold. I thought I was going to through up. Could I do this? I had to do this. Think of what this will bring? I paced around and fanned myself with my hands.

Darlene held me by the arms to keep me from continuing to fidget. She shook me a little to get my attention.

"It's not you their watching, Jane," Darlene looking straight into my eyes. Her deep blue eyes, seared into me. "Remember that. You're not you on that stage. You're Alexis."

I nodded.

"Do you understand that?" Darlene pressed.

I nodded.

"Do you understand that?" she said in a low tone.

I nodded once more, forcing down the panic that almost over took me. I felt a jostle behind me as the earlier performer burst out from behind the red velvet curtains. She was laughing, as she held her robe against her chest, and fistfuls of dollar bills.

"It's a great crowd tonight," she advised as she walked past us. Her naked rear marked only by a small star tattoo on her ass cheek. "Break a leg, Jane!" she said over her shoulder as she continued on down the steps to the dressing rooms.

"Take your places, girls," the stage hand barked as he held out a fake whip made of strips of black vinyl to me. Darlene brushed past me to take her spot on the stage, her wings fluttering behind her.

"And now, we have a special treat for you tonight!" the emcee's voice came over the speakers as I run to take my spot beside her. "Our newest performer debuts tonight alongside the star of our show. I give you, Alexis Domina, and your favorite, Angela Devine!"

I am blinded by harsh spot lights as the curtain opens before us. A crack of a whip comes over the speakers and I move in time.


	3. Chapter 3  August 4, 2011

**Original or Derivative (fanfiction)**: DERIVATIVE

**Rating/Warning(s)/Note(s):** T.

_I don't know if this will lead to anything yet. But we'll see.__  
><em> 

**Disclaimer:** All copyrights, trademarked items, or recognizable characters, plots, etc. mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without their express written authorization.

**Word Prompt: collar**

_Hmmm… She has a mole._

I never noticed it before. The law clerk they call Bella has a mole that sits right at the base of her neck, at the spot where her shirt collar rests.

I enjoy my new discovery. It's cute. It makes me wonder what else she hides underneath. Deep inside. Not just under her clothes.

I wonder what it would take to know that. She keeps to herself most of the time, preferring the company of a book over the other law clerks during the courthouse lunch hour.

She sits at a particular table each time; in a corner on the far side of the room, beside a pillar. A giant fake palm plant keeps her hidden from view. That's how she seems to like it.

Unfortunately for her (that is subjective, I know), I see her. In fact, I see her every day, unbeknownst to her.

I too sit in the same spot everyday. Beside one of the old vending machines that's been broken since I started working here. People who sit on this side of the lunch room tend to be somber and quiet. I suppose it's the effect of dark mural of the scales of justice behind me. The blind woman carrying the scales presented in abstract form, shaded in varying degrees of grey.

The lunch room is busy and buzzing from the extra activity at the courthouse today. The criminal trial of a known drug dealer was beginning, and jurors were being chosen. The lunch room is fuller than usual. Despite it, I see only her. All the rest are shadow in my periphery, blurs of movement. Images just part of the landscape.

She sits still, engrossed with the pages before her. I wonder what she's reading. She keeps the book cover flat against the melamine table.

She turns a page and smoothes out the pages with her palms. She fingers the button of her shirt with her other hand; twirling it between her index finger and thumb. Her hand flies to her lips, suppressing a small smile behind her fingers. The base of her neck reddens.

I am so engrossed with the mole once again peeking from under her collar. I want to touch it. I wonder if I'd recognize the perfume she wears if my nose runs against the spot of skin. I bet it would be intoxicating. I'm already feeling drunk just thinking of it. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath. The oxygen rushes through me flushing out the lightness I feel in my head.

I open my eyes and find the book on her table shut. Her hands sit on top of it, unmoving. I glance up. She's looking at me. Her eyebrows scrunched together.

I quickly cast my eyes down to the top of my table. My turkey and swiss sandwich untouched; the bag of chips beside it unopened. The screech of chair legs scraping against the concrete floor, irritate my sensitive ears. It reminds me of fingernails scratching a chalkboard.

I look up once more to see if she's still looking at me. She's not. She's gone.

Sighing in relief (or disappointment, I can't tell which), I take my tray and throw the wasted food into the trash bin. The room is emptying quickly. The staffers and prospective jurors return to their posts for the day.

I tuck the legal brief I was supposed to review during my lunch break, under my arm. My Judge isn't going to be happy when he learns I haven't read it yet.


End file.
